The first woman, of course, is in a category all by herself: our Blessed Mother. You may have missed her appearance in today’s readings because what looked like our responsorial psalm was actually Mary’s great hymn of praise, the Magnificat, from the Gospel of Luke.
Mary is our model of gratitude for the past and hope for the future. She looks back as she proclaims that the Mighty One has done great things for her, and she looks forward since not only will all generations call her blessed, but his mercy is from generation to generation.
My homily today is about how we can do that. I want to suggest that we can do what Mary did and what our second reading teaches. It’s possible, if not always easy, to rejoice always and to give thanks in all circumstances.
The other two women we’ll talk about today give amazing examples of this, even if no one can compare with Mary’s total trust as she rejoices in what God has done and what God will do.
These two 20th century women show that it’s possible for ordinary people to give thanks and rejoice in every situation, replacing anxiety with deep hope and reliance on God.
Corrie and Betsie ten Boom were Dutch Protestants who, together with other members of their family, were sent to the infamous Ravensbruck concentration camp for the crime of protecting Jews against the Nazis. If I could speak about them for an hour, I could tell you some of the most powerful stories of the Second World War, but since I can't, let me tell you just one. It's a story I read more than 40 years ago which has stayed with me ever since.
When Corrie and her older sister Betsie first found themselves in Barrack 28 at Ravensbruck they were appalled by the conditions. Nice middle class women—they worked as watchmakers—they were horrified by the cockroaches, lice, and non-existent sanitation.
In her book The Hiding Place, Corrie recounts the moment that fleas were added to their miseries.
After her first of many fleabites, she wailed “Betsie, how can we live in such a place?”
Within moments she looked up and urged Corrie to find the Bible passage they’d read that morning and read it again. It included the words we just heard in today’s second reading, Paul’s command to rejoice always and give thanks in all circumstances.
“That’s what we can do,” Betsie cried. “We can thank God for everything about this new barracks.”
Looking around the foul-smelling, vermin-infested room, Corrie responded “Such as?”—with or without sarcasm, she doesn’t say, but I can guess.
Her faith-filled sister answered immediately: “Such as being assigned here together,” to which Corrie replied with a prayerful “Yes, Lord Jesus.”
Betsie added that they were richly blessed to have a Bible with them. Again, Corrie joined her in thanking God, and she added a prayer of gratitude for being in such close quarters with so many women with whom they could share the Gospel.
But when Betsie thanked God for the fleas, that was too much for Corrie.
“Betsie,” she said, “there’s no way even God can make me grateful for a flea.”
Her sister was not backing down. “’Give thanks in all circumstances,’ she quoted. Fleas are part of the place where God has put us.”
And so, they gave thanks for the fleas.
There the story could end, a remarkable story of taking God at his word, of taking God’s word seriously. But it wasn’t the end of the story.
As Betsie and Corrie shared their faith with the hundreds of women in the barracks, it became one big ecumenical Bible study. For some reason, their prayer services were never interrupted by the guards. In fact, the guards never set foot in the barracks. Eventually, the sisters figured out why: the fleas. The guards were afraid of the fleas.
The thing for which Corrie so reluctantly thanked God became a tremendous blessing.
St. Paul’s words are timeless, advice in good times and in bad, in each and every circumstance. They are sound scriptural advice in this time of pandemic; an antidote to the discouragement and fear so many are feeling; a great comfort in whatever misery we’re experiencing; and a way of magnifying the joys that are by no means absent.
Grateful prayer is also a remedy for our anxiety. In another letter, Paul puts his teaching in these words: “Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God” (Phil. 4:6).
Dear friends if you know me you know I don’t always practice what I preach. I talk about scriptural teachings I’m not very good at—for example, I am very poor at “praying always,” which is something else St. Paul tells us to do in this reading.
But I’m pretty good at giving thanks in all circumstances, the pandemic included. It’s probably because this verse is a cousin, if not a sibling, to Romans 8:28, where Paul writes that God works for good in every circumstance, that God can bring good even from the greatest evils.
Throughout these difficult months, I have done my best to thank the Lord for his work in our parish despite the many unhappy aspects of the current crisis. I have thanked him for the technology that allowed me a final visit by iPad with Jim Pocklington, our first and only parishioner to die from the coronavirus. The iPad also allows Father Jeff or me a weekly visit with an elderly parishioner who calls us from her care facility.
I have thanked God for your astonishing generosity, which has kept our parish afloat despite the church closings and limited congregations. The virtual collection baskets have never been empty.
God does not want his people to be sad. Not now, not ever. There’s something much greater than our circumstances. As we heard in Mary’s song of praise, no sadness can obscure the Lord’s mercy, the mercy he offers so freely, to generation after generation—to young and old, to every one of us.
Would yesterday’s Day of Mercy have been the same a year ago? I doubt it. Father Jeff and I heard confessions for a combined total of 13 hours. God filled the hungry with good things and looked with mercy and love on our lowliness and need.
Maybe you felt too low or discouraged to take part in the Day of Mercy yesterday. But maybe the Word of God this morning will give you the courage to come to confession next Sunday when both of us will be waiting in our safely distanced confessional spaces at the usual times of Saturday at 9:30 and Sunday at 4.
In some sense, the trials of the pandemic have drawn some people closer to Jesus as they experience the loss of other things on which they used to rely. We’ve all heard wartime stories of the same thing.
Of course, the restrictions on parish life may lead to some people falling away, despite our best efforts; there are those who aren’t unhappy that they don’t have to go to Mass; there are likely some who won’t return when things get back to normal.
That’s a very disturbing thought. But like the ten Boom sisters, I will find a way to give thanks even for that. God works for good in all things, and perhaps those parishioners who will no longer walk with us on Sundays will come to realize their need to walk with greater purpose on the discipleship path and will be granted a deeper conversion down the road.
As I have said before, perhaps God is allowing the smaller but holier Church that Josef Ratzinger spoke about long before he was Pope Benedict.
And let’s not forget that we’re called to rejoice in all circumstances, not just the trying ones. God also wants us to rejoice in the good things around us. Although the pandemic has been hard for me in many ways, to date it’s been bookended by joyful events hard to describe without getting emotional.
The last weekend before the lockdown in March, I officiated at the marriage of my niece in this church. And three days ago, I was one of the ten people attending the priestly ordination of Richard Conlin at Holy Rosary Cathedral Friday night.
My niece’s wedding wasn’t the first family wedding I celebrated here. Thirty years ago, I married her parents at the brand-new Christ the Redeemer Church. But in thirty years we haven’t seen the ordination of a parishioner; Father Richard, the son of Brian and Monica of our parish, was the first.
To have an ordination during the pandemic, when so many family members and friends could not attend the ordination, was sad. But as a thirtieth anniversary gift from God to the parish, it made 2020 “a year of the Lord’s favour,” not just a time of discouragement and loss.
I’ll be thanking God for the sight of the newly ordained Father Richard shining—I mean shining—with joy long after the clouds of the pandemic have lifted.
And I’m grateful for the tears that rolled down his cheeks as he magnified the Lord for his goodness during the homily at his first Mass.
I’ve spoken about some of the things for which I’ve given thanks during the pandemic. What about you? What are the hardships you can bring to the Lord this morning, praying with thanksgiving in obedience to his word, even if you don’t feel like it?
Can you give thanks for some negative things that have been turned to positives in your life? Has the impossibility of travel allowed more family time this Christmas? Is the impossibility of Christmas parties making the season more reflective and calm?
And are there some clouds that simply have no silver linings? A loved one in a hospital or care home you can’t visit? There’s no positive to be found there. But Paul doesn’t say “give thanks in most circumstances” or “give thanks for almost everything.” We pray in thanksgiving as a way of handing it all to God, in whom we trust, in whom we hope.
I leave you with three words of advice for your next experience of hardship, whatever it may be: Remember the fleas.
But most of all, let’s not forget what the Mighty One has done for us, that God has come as one of us, ready to give meaning to whatever joy and whatever sorrow we face at this most unusual moment our journey together as a family of faith.
The watercolour image at the top can be purchased at https://society6.com/product/give-thanks-in-all-circumstances_print while The Hiding Place is available at Indigo and Amazon (in a slightly more expensive, anniversary edition).
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